Nothing Else Matters
by dickmouth
Summary: Chris and Mindy meet up five years after that night. Putting their differences aside, they team up to stop a survivor of the massacre from eliminating everyone close to Dave and Mindy. In the process, they force each other to face their pasts and come to terms with the things they've done.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first ever Kick-Ass fic. I'm not an expert on the comics, the characters, or the movie, really. I'm just a fan, so if some facts are wrong, please overlook it. I feel the need to say that this is not one of those stories where Chris and Mindy meet up years later, realize there's tons of sexual tension between them, and have crazy amounts of hate sex. What I'm going for is more of an older brother/little sister or partner-in-crime relationship. There will be no romance or sex in this story, despite the rating, so if you came here for smut, I apologize.**

**This is rated M for language and violence. Right now, the story isn't done, so I have an idea of other things that may happen, but I can't say for sure they'll make it into the final draft. Additional warnings will be added if the chapters need them, but for now, just language and violence make up the rating. Please let me know what you think of things so far, whether your thoughts are good or bad. I love constructive criticism, so leave it. It helps me fix whatever needs to be worked on. Thank you for giving this story a chance.**

_"Never opened myself this way_  
_Life is ours, we live it our way_  
_All these words I don't just say_  
_and nothing else matters."_

_-Metallica, "Nothing Else Matters"_

She was taught many things when she was little, many of which never had any purpose in a normal day to day life. She had all the capabilities of some kind of assassin you see in big budget action movies, but no knowledge of what she was supposed to be like at whatever age she was. Her childhood should have been ponies, stuffed animals, and princess cartoons, instead she was taught that those things were laughable and beneath her, as if she was too old for them, but she never really was. The only girly joy she had was whatever clothing she picked out when her dad took her shopping, and that was when the little girl came out. She may not have wanted anything to do with dolls and makeup, but something in her was attracted to colors, and she liked all the ones she was supposed to like. It was one thing she never had to fake. Anything with bright pink and purple with glitter and hearts on it was grabbed and paid for. She always grabbed the most colorful packs of underwear and socks she could find, and her pigtails were just another excuse to add more color, as the ties she used never matched each other. She was taught to be independent, and even if she looked like some kind of Punky Brewster copycat, she always dressed and took care of herself. Her hair was never just right, and one pigtail was always higher than the other. It was rare to get haircuts, so her bangs were usually just a tiny bit too long. It was another piece of motivation to get into her costume, and put the wig on. It got the hair out of her eyes. She was taught about hygiene, and that she had to be sure to be clean. Her teeth were brushed at least twice a day, if not more. She preferred to do it after every meal, but sometimes time just didn't permit it. She sometimes showered twice a day, though sometimes she'd replace her night time shower with a bath instead. She never had toys, and she didn't know about mermaids, so her baths weren't a time to play. She sat and stared at the bubbles, turning her mind off. It was the only rest she really got, due to the fact that her head continued to race long after she fell asleep. There were times she'd stay zoned out so long, that she wouldn't snap out of it until her dad knocked on the door to make sure she was okay, at which point she drained the tub, dried off, and got into her kitten pajamas.

She loved her father, not only because he was all she had, but because she was all he had, and he made sure to let her know it. She was important and he reminded her every day of how much he loved her and cared about her. Though he molded her into what he felt was an appropriate sidekick, she was happy to play the part. It was a game. Some girls took their dads to the Father/Daughter dance, she accompanied her father on midnight trips to dark alleys for target practice on local gang members. He taught her about every weapon he could think of, and by the time she reached eleven years old, she could open up to any page of an encyclopedia of firearms, and name the weapon within seconds. She knew nearly everything about every gun anyone could lay in front of her. She spent a lot of her downtime throwing knives at a dart board, which got boring after a while since eventually, she ended up hitting the bullseye every time. She moved on from weapon to weapon, and when she seemed to be an expert on that topic, she moved on to martial arts, teaching herself moves that seemed impossible, and possibly made up, that she saw in old Kung Fu movies. Day after day, she would fall repeatedly, giving her so many bruises that her father made her stay inside until they healed to avoid suspicion. Things were easier in that area when he helped her, catching her when flips went wrong, and giving her a moving target to aim for. Every session, whether they were fencing or learning about explosives, ended with him hugging her and telling her she did a good job. He never belittled her or told her she'd never learn. If she was having a hard time, he simply would not let her move on to anything else until she perfected whatever she was having trouble with. She was never scolded, and she was never punished. Though he loved her as a daughter, and showed it, he treated her like an adult, and an equal.

Above all, though it seemed unlikely, he valued intelligence, and he provided her with every resource available to teach her basic, and advanced education. By nine years old, she was fluent in three languages, and on the same level as high school sophomores. At eleven, she was taking college courses and added two more languages to her skill set. She had a knack for concentration and was able to tune everything out and focus on whatever task was in front of her. She could've read a chapter from her French book while bombs went off outside her window. All this would be a problem later in her life when she would be thrown into the public school system.

She was taught right and wrong, though anyone who had seen the things she'd done would doubt she even had a soul. She was taught to know her victims, and having the ability to hack into police station computers helped her in that area. She studied their faces and memorized their crimes. She would study them so much, that she'd be able to recognize them if they walked by on a crowded street, and sometimes they did. However, she knew none of anything she knew could be revealed. She may have been glued to the window of a pet store, but her eyes would pass the puppies and stare at the men buying dog chains next to the registers. They'd be followed, and they'd be punished in the most brutal ways she knew how to. Her father taught her, through comic books, about heroes vs. villains, and she learned the words he repeated over and over again early on. Always be the hero. If you're out having fun, and you hear someone scream, you go to them. If someone pulls a gun, you find a way to take them out without anyone seeing you do so. Learn to use the things around you to make the end result look like an accident you had nothing to do with, and if they get away, you find them later. There were times she'd get hurt, though. Her most memorable injury was a broken collarbone, which was passed off as an injury from falling into a ditch on her bike. The eight year old did her best not to cry, but she was still a little girl, and sometimes she couldn't help it. When it happened, she wasn't told to toughen up, or to stop acting like a baby. She was held and comforted like any little girl should be. It was when she got hurt, though, that she got angry, and she knew getting angry wasn't really a good thing. It clouded judgment and led to mistakes. Mostly, though, it made her resent whoever she was helping. There were times she went off on women for putting themselves in dangerous positions, or nearly beat the shit out of liquor store owners because they didn't have working cameras, or a weapon behind the counter. Very few instances occurred when her father had to intervene, but they did happen, and he would have to physically remove her from the environment and calm her down. Pain was her trigger, and it caused her temper to rise to dangerous levels.

Her morals, though hidden, and her understanding of peoples minds, helped her arrive where she was as she sat in the back booth of a hole-in-the-wall diner in a shitty part of town. Now 16, she lived with Marcus and attended the same school Dave had when he was her age. Though he was there when she really needed him, he was also a 22 year old man, and he had a complicated life of his own. He had friends, he had a girlfriend, he had a life. She'd helped him train after the D'Amico incident, but he only accompanied her when he could get away from Katie. She had a few friends, but mostly kept to herself, which nobody really understood. She befriended a select few underdog students, who seemed to be having trouble making it through the high school experience, and became a sort of protector without even lifting a finger. She attributed the intimidated looks she received to pure animal instincts. Human beings having a sense that something was wrong with someone. It was as if they were walking down the street and saw a rabid dog, staring at them and growling barely loud enough to hear. One wrong step, and she would attack, though she never had. She wasn't warm toward her friends, but was in no way harsh. She'd help them with homework, but would never associate with anyone outside of school. When the final bell rang, she walked home, and stayed there until the sun went down and she could remove the 17th wooden floorboard to pull out her costume and sneak out the window.

There were a few times she was asked out. She was in no way physically undesirable, and she learned that early on. As a child, she used her cute blonde haired, blue eyed appearance to charm people, or to appear to be a helpless victim, and when people were drawn in, she attacked. Her looks evolved with her age, and she kept herself up in the most minimal way possible. She groomed herself just enough to be subtly pretty. shaped eyebrows, occasionally barely styled hair, which was always worn down, but never any makeup. She kept an eye on her face, and if there was any sign of imperfection on her skin, she annihilated it, returning her complexion to perfection. Her always tiny frame had also matured, and she had a body she was proud of, but never flaunted. Her clothes were never too tight or low cut, her shorts always reached her mid-thigh, and on the rare occurrance that she went swimming, she chose shorts and tanktops over the bikinis her classmates bought. She didn't have the stick thin body the girls around her seemed to strive for. Her constant physical activity had toned her, but left her with a healthy amount of weight on her. The fat on her stomach was barely there, but she had it. Health was another topic she was keen on, and she took in whatever she needed in order to not become overweight, or burn off too many calories and head into the negative territory after her exercise routines. She also felt more attracted to the bodies of women in earlier decades, rather than the stick-thin models and actresses her classmates had plastered in their lockers. When a passing girl stopped at her lunch table on a day she decided to buy pizza and dip it in ranch dressing, and told her it would make her fat, Mindy, with a mouthful of chewed food, quickly came up with the very teenaged retort of "but fat means boobs", and motioned toward the girl's flat chest, adding, "eat pizza, earn a bra." She was left alone after that. Though she wasn't extremely well endowed, she did develop a little more than what she was comfortable with and she covered herself. Her clothes made her appear chubby and even flat chested at times, but these were things she rarely paid attention to. She wore loose clothing whenever she could, to counter the tight, but thin, fabric of her costume. Any loose clothing in the situations she got in would be used as a handle for her opposition, and they could grab her easily. So, she made sure she kept every bit of her costume close to her, keeping her cape only because her father made it. Having to throw out her childhood costume to create one she could adjust for her massive growth spurt, the cape was all she had left of what he had made for her.

Tonight was her night off, though. She had no targets she was looking for, though she couldn't stop herself from eyeing other people as they sat down, wondering what crimes, if any, they had committed. But they were innocent until proven guilty, which was what brought her here in the first place. Innocence vs. guilt. The situation she'd found herself in forced her to judge a person's character based on only seeing the worst of them during the worst time of her life. Afterward, however, she had time to think, and that was all she could do.

Chris D'Amico disappeared after his father's death, mostly out of fear. He knew who Hit-Girl was, and she knew who he was. There was no Red Mist in her eyes, just the son of the man who caused the death of both of her parents, one of which was the most important aspect of her life- the only person- the only thing in the world- she would die for, but who beat her to it, and when she thought of Chris, she thought of the gunshot that sent her out the window, separating her from her father, and sending the strongest man she knew into a panic, which led to his capture and eventual death. But since there was no Red Mist, and he was just D'Amico Jr., she was forced to analyze him. She knew his life probably better than he did. She knew where he was born, how much he weighed at the time, the name of his first grade teacher, his favorite band, and even the titles of the porn he had downloaded onto his computer. She knew that his mom called him "Chrissy" until he was old enough to realize how feminine it was and put a stop to it, and that she tried to get his attention, as a needy child would with an inattentive parent, but Chris ignored her efforts and spent his time admiring his drug lord father instead. It was through all of her research that she began to understand him. He wasn't a supervillian. He wasn't even really a criminal. He hadn't even gotten so much as detention in his twenty two years of living. He was a pathetic rich boy with daddy issues, who would do anything, including kill a little girl, to get his father's attention. Luckily for him, the girl he tried to kill was her. Had it been another girl, she would have died, and Mindy would be forced to track him down and kill him. It would be a very painful death, due to the circumstances.

This was his break, though. She shoved the fact that he made her feel physically ill, and her chest actually tightened and hurt when she thought of him because of her father and his involvement, and she remembered the things her father taught her. Self control. Empathy. Faith in humanity, even in the darkest and most hopeless times. She studied the tapes from outside the safehouse, and saw the way he was trying to get away, apologizing to Dave over and over again. She also got the tapes from the D'Amico house, and though Chris admitted to his father that he fully intended on her father being captured, the words "let Kick-Ass go, he didn't do anything wrong" rang over and over in her head. "he didn't do anything wrong". It was what she needed to hear from him. In his mind, her father had done something wrong, and that was understandable. He had gone into Chris's father's building, and slaughtered everyone inside. All Chris knew was his father's side, that this evil man had killed his dad's friends. He thought he was doing the right thing. He was simply misinformed, and his lack of knowledge- his lack of studying- had resulted in the death of her father.

So years after that night, when she received a text message asking to meet from someone claiming to be Chris, She agreed, but only after tracing the number back to someone named Daniel Wallace. Daniel being Chris's middle name, Wallace being his mother's maiden name. The poor guy was good at running, but sucked at new identities. She told Marcus she had a study date with a boy from her Chemistry class, and that she'd be back late because they were going to get dinner first, and then go back to his place, where they would study in the well lit living room while his mother read a book in her chair in front of the TV. The boy's name was Alan Plaine, and he sat behind her in her 3rd period Chemistry class. She felt bad for using him as an alibi, he was a nice guy, but she needed a name in case Marcus, in all his paranoid ways, decided to check to see if the boy she mentioned was actually in her class, or if they had a test coming up, which they did. She put on an outfit that she felt would look as if she was trying to impress the boy she was going to see, but was conservative enough to where Marcus wouldn't tell her to change, or suspect she was entering the "curious" phase in her teenage years. The solid grey t-shirt clung to her, only slightly, and she stuck to her normal school jeans, which were tight, but not enough to squeeze the life out of her. The shirt reached down to her hips, making sure to cover every bit of skin that might appear should she bend over or lift her arms too high. The girly, flirtatious touch came with the bedazzled sandals she wore, and her pretty pink toenails. She felt pink was appropriate. It was pale, cute, and girly, showing a more feminine side of herself that Marcus rarely saw. He thought it was cute, she could see it in his face, the way she was awkwardly trying to impress boys without being over-the-top. She had executed her plan perfectly.

The satisfied half smile that crept onto her face disappeared when she saw him come in. Wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, something teenage D'Amico Jr. would never be caught dead in, Chris looked around, scanning the room for her. She looked him up and down, searching every inch of his body for any sign of a weapon. Converse. Richie Rich D'Amico was wearing Converse. Her eyes made their way back to his face as he spotted her, and she swore she could see some color drain from his face. He froze momentarily, but began the walk to the table she had chosen. His somewhat long walk gave her time to examine him. He hadn't shaved in maybe two days, but it wasn't due to lack of maintenance. He was clean and though his hair was somewhat messy, he'd put time into it, and it worked. It looked like that "just got out of bed" look so many guys strive for. He had gotten sun. His skin, once so white it was almost see-thru, was now a healthy light tan color. He hadn't overdone the sun exposure, and a farmer's tan didn't seem to exist. He was heavier, but not in a sloppy way. He hadn't let himself go, quite the opposite actually. He'd worked out. He'd been active, He'd gotten his body in shape and he had muscle, but not too much. He didn't have rock hard abs. She wasn't sure he'd even have visible abs at all, really. But he didn't have fat on him. Through all of her examining, she'd kept her eyes slightly narrowed, and glued to him, making sure her gaze shot back to his eyes whenever he looked at her, and not at the floor or the surrounding restaurant. As far as he knew, she'd glared at him from the second their eyes met. He didn't know that she saw him as more of a threat with his new body than she had before. He'd be stronger now, and he'd always been bigger. Now he was even bigger. But so was she. He sat down in the booth across from her and suddenly found the strength to really look at her face, and they stared at each other without emotion, aside from her obviously angry eyes. Neither spoke until the waitress approached, and Mindy was the first to look at her, smiling.

"Hi, can I start you guys off with something to drink?"

"Can I have water? And french fries and the Oreo sundae?" The waitress smiled and nodded, writing it all down.

"Whipped cream?"

"Yes please." She kept the smile on her face as she looked at Chris at the same time the waitress did.

"And for you?"

"Coffee, please." His voice was the same, but different. It had the same nasally tone to it- he'd never get rid of that, it was a physical thing. But it was... Grown up? Seasoned... She had no idea what the term would be for it.

"Anything else?"

"No, thank you." The woman walked away and Mindy's smile faded as she looked back at Chris, who hadn't taken his eyes off her for a second, even when he was talking to the waitress, probably out of fear.

"You should work on your people skills. Smiling raises morale and heightens the chances of being treated well."

"I don't give a fuck about her morale." He wasn't angry when he said it. He wasn't trying to act tough, or make her feel threatened. He was being honest. The water and coffee came quickly, and the smile returned to Mindy's face as she looked up at the woman.

"Thank you." Chris still didn't break his stare, and the waitress walked away with a bounce in her step, proving Mindy's theory right. Again, the smile left as her eyes fell on him. "Where'd you dig the hole you've been hiding in, D'Amico? Mexico? Canada?" He shook his head, silently telling her he wouldn't give her that information. It was a smart move. She nodded. "Are you still scared of me?"

"I never was." She smiled, somewhat taken aback.

"No?" He shook his head. "When you walked in here, you couldn barely look at me, and now you're sitting here trying to seem like some kind of cool gangster mob boss, staring me down like you want me to sink into this seat and cower before you. It's not happening, D'Amico, so cut the silent tough guy bullshit and tell me why we're here." He shook his head.

"I couldn't look at you because I felt guilty. I walked over here, feeling your fucking eyes burning a hole through me, and when I sat down and saw you up close, it all came back to me."

"That I helped kill your dad?" She asked, in a way trying to hurt him, and remind him of his loss.

"That I helped kill yours." He shot back. She was quiet. It seemed the effect she wanted her words to have came from his and hit her right in the chest. She felt the heat rising to her face. "I'm not going to sit here and make excuses. I shot you. I shot a kid and I didn't think twice about it. I had no problem killing you and that says something about me."

"That you're a merciless badass?"

"That I was a pathetic idiot." Again, he shocked her. The feeling was so rare, she didn't know how to handle it, so she remained quiet and let him finish what he was going to say. "I had my reasons, as petty as they were, they were reasons, and to me they were important, so I did what I was told, and I did it proudly." She kept her eyes on him as her food arrived, muttering a "thank you" as the waitress walked away. "Everything was done out of desperation."

"Desperate to make your daddy love you?"

"Weren't you?" He asked. She shook her head, picking up a french fry.

"I didn't have to be desperate, or fight for it, or fucking beg for it, it was there." He hadn't taken his eyes from hers since he sat down, and he didn't break his gaze. She put her food back down and rubbed her fingers together to get the salt off. "See, there was a difference between your dad and mine, D'Amico. Your dad smiled when you were born, and took a phone call before leaving your mom in the hospital to handle a bad drug deal. He put on a show when he felt he had to, and maybe- just maybe- he had feelings for you, but they weren't strong enough to show you that you never had to be desperate for him to show you that he loved you. Knocking a woman up doesn't turn a man into a father and that man wasn't a father. Your mother and your nanny took care of you and when you were old enough to know that boys need to be manly, you turned your back on them, and followed your dad around like a lost puppy. You had a man in your house who gave your mom a kiss every morning and fucked up your hair while you were eating breakfast. That's not affection, that's obligation. It's the bare fucking minimum, and he did it to get the dad title and make you crave his attention enough for you to idolize him, because that's all he wanted. He wanted to be fucking God and he knew none of the men around him saw him that way. He was their boss, or some prick they were scared of, but they didn't look at him like you did. He didn't give a fuck where that look came from, he just wanted it, and you gave it to him. You were there to feed his ego, then he used you when it was convenient."

"You're saying all this like it's something I don't know. You think you're informing me? Filling me in? Enlightening me?"

"No, because you knew him, or at least thought you did." She shifted and leaned forward, shoving her food to the side so she didn't get anything on her shirt. "Let me enlighten you." She said, getting angry. "Your piece of shit sperm donor fucked up my parents life. Have you ever been to prison?"

"No, and neither have you."

"And neither had my dad. How do you think prison was for a fucking suburban husband cop? The first time I met him, he had a black eye and broken nose. And that was after five years of training himself to be able to kill someone with ease. Imagine how bad it was for him when he first got in there and only had basic police training. It's a fucking miracle he survived." Her anger was rising, which she couldn't stand, but she kept going. "My mom killed herself, and would've killed me, if Marcus hadn't busted the door down. So there's some role reversal. Your dad doesn't give a shit, and neither did my mom. The only advantage I had was not having to live with her, but you know, it would've been nice to have a mom around so I knew what to do when I got my fucking period or started liking boys." If anything would make him look away, or show some kind of embarrassment, she figured that would've been it, but he didn't even flinch. "_Regardless,_" She said, a little louder. "Once he got out, that was it. That was the end of my pain. I had six years with him, and in six years, he taught me things your parents and an entire school system couldn't teach you in 15. He was smart and he was kind, and he actually gave a shit about people, which is why he wanted to keep them safe by wiping out pieces of shit like your dad and the assholes who did his bidding."

"Did I know this?" He asked.

"No, you didn't know this, because you weren't smart enough to try to know this. Another thing my dad taught me was to fucking think. I don't go outside and gut someone because I get angry. If I did that, you'd be dead right now. He showed me how to be patient, and to research. I know everything about every person I plan to kill. Your father had a plan, and that was to kill me and my dad. All you knew was that there was a target in that room. Look for a girl, and kill her, right?" He nodded. "I kill like that when someone else's life is in danger, or if my life is. I don't just walk up to people who look suspicious and shoot them. Your dad fed you shit about us and you followed it blindly. At that point, in your mind, how could an eleven year old girl deserve to be shot and killed?" He didn't have an answer, and her pause was met with silence. "Dave knew enough about us, and he would have told you everything if you cared enough to ask, but you didn't. You knew he was good. You fucking knew Dave had never hurt anyone, and would never hurt anyone unless he had to. He wasn't in this for any reason but a stupid desire to make this fucked up world a better place. You were desperate, and I wanted revenge. Those were our reasons. Knowing he didn't have one means he'd give you whatever information he had, and it would have been true, because he was our partner, and partners don't lie to each other. If you'd asked why we did what we did, he would have told you, because he didn't know who you were, how he was that stupid, I have no idea, but he was. He would've given your dad's name, and told you what he did, but it wouldn't matter, because it didn't even matter enough for you to ask."

"It didn't." She stared at him in disbelief.

"You have no idea how bad I want to saw your fucking head off with this knife." She said, gritting her teeth and holding the knife that was on the table.

"But you won't, because you know I don't deserve it. If I did deserve it, you wouldn't have been sitting here when I walked in. You underestimate me, Mindy, but I give you credit where it's due. I know you research. You fucking enjoyed killing those men in my house. You smiled through the entire thing." She nodded. "If you enjoyed blind killing that much, you'd be out on the streets murdering anyone who came across you. You'd be all over the news, but you weren't. I knew enough about my dad to know he wasn't a saint, and I knew those men weren't either. It didn't matter to me, but it matters in the long run, when I'm thinking back trying to figure you out."

"Why? Why would you 'think back to figure me out' in the first place? How can you trust your belief that I don't simply kill whoever upsets me enough to ask to meet me like this?"

"Because what it all boils down to is that, compared to everything that's happened, what I did was nothing. I made a bad decision and what I decided to do, I thankfully failed at. I'm not a fucking criminal low-life like those pieces of shit you mow down in back alleys. I'm a fucking idiot, yes, but I know that you know that doesn't justify gouging my eyes out."

"You shot me."

"I shot someone who killed people who were important to my father. If I slit Marcus's throat, would you kill me?"

"I'd kill you before you got to our street."

"Exactly." She mentally kicked herself for helping him make his point. "He tells me you're bad, I believe him, Just like your father told you my father was bad, and you believed him."

"He backed it up with proof."

"Which is the mistake I've already admitted to. I did it blindly, yes, but I did it because I loved him, and I trusted him, just like you loved and trusted your dad. The only difference is, as you said, my dad didn't give a shit about me, and led me into a situation that has fucked me up for years."

"Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry that shooting me has upset you so much." She said in a quiet, sarcastic voice.

"It wasn't shooting you. It was realizing that after spending my life doing whatever he wanted, bending over backwards to be perfect in every way, I wasn't enough for him to protect. I was a fucking pawn in his master plan to bring your family down. I don't know everything about you. I don't do extensive research like you do, but I know enough to know that you're capable of stepping outside your emotions to put yourself in other peoples shoes. If your dad had done nothing but train you- or pay someone else to train you, to mold you into what he wanted, just to use you..." She felt her glare softening as she thought about it. Thinking of her father that way made her feel a mixture of guilt and nausea. "If he did all that, and never loved you, no matter what you did, wouldn't it fuck you up?" She stared at him without saying a word. The answer was yes, but saying it out loud would mean he won the argument, and she couldn't let him have that..

"What do you want?" She asked quietly. He sat back, the tension leaving his shoulders as he leaned against the cracked leather booth. High school Chris wouldn't be caught dead sitting on something so worn down.

"It's not what I want, it's what I need." She raised her eyebrows and smiled, leaning back and crossing her arms in front of her.

"Oh, you need me? I didn't realize I was on call." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Well you are." Her jaw dropped and she couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

"You are fucking unbe-"

"Dave's dad is dead." He blurted out. She froze. "It took me an hour to find you. Marcus quit and changed his number, then moved with you. I had to track him down, then check his phone records to find your number. I started searching ten minutes after I heard the plan."

"Plan?"

"You weren't 100% effective that night. Jared Yimenez got out alive, and somehow he found out who Dave was, and he wanted revenge." She shook her head and unfolded her arms.

"That doesn't make sense. I was the one who shot him. If he knew who Dave was, he'd know who I was." Chris smiled, as if a child had said something to remind everyone of their naivety.

"You think he's gonna go after you directly? Dave even? He's a fucking pussy, you shot him in the back as he tried running away with a fully loaded gun in his hand. He didn't even try." She stared at him. "I still talk to people. Some of the guys had kids my age, and since those were the only people in my house, theirs were the only kids I really talked to. I got a call that day from Jared's son. He was all happy because his dad found out a bunch of shit about Kick-Ass. He said his dad was going to take down everyone Dave cares about, and then kill him last. He was going to do it in a routine way, so Dave would know when they were going to die, but he wouldn't know who was next, you know, to fuck with his head while he destroys his life." She couldn't take her eyes away from his, interested in every word. "He was going to start on Dave's birthday, by killing his dad."

"That's next week."

"Which is why he's dead now." She shook her head.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" She asked. He looked around suspiciously, as if there was a possibility they were being spied on. He leaned closer, and she instinctively did the same.

"I don't know why he did it now, and didn't wait until the day he said he'd do it, but I went by Dave's place to warn him, and there were cops everywhere. I stayed and watched them take out the body bag. Dave was crying- saying "Oh my god" over and over again and just shaking his head." She was astounded he'd noticed such small details. It was then that her phone rang and Dave's face came up. She didn't look up at Chris, she just stared at her phone for a minute before answering it.

"Hello?" Chris could hear Dave's hysterical crying and slurred speech as he blurted out what happened, repeating himself and crying harder, then apologizing for crying, and repeating that. "Stay there, I'm coming over." Dave said something about a hospital. "I'll meet you there, then. Just stay focused. If something happened to him, something could happen to you." She looked around. "Well I do fucking care so fucking pay attention on your way over there, okay? I'll see you in a few minutes." She hung up and looked at Chris.

"I don't know if he's doing it himself, or if he's got someone else doing it. I don't know if this starts it, and next week someone else goes, or if he's going to give it a rest until Dave's birthday, then start there, and wait another week, I just don't know." He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't. It's all fucking fair game now, I guess but we both know I'm not really fit to handle something like this alone. I thought I had a head start on it, that's why I went straight to you. I knew if you knew it was Dave, even coming from me, you'd get involved."

"You seem to have been training for a while." He simply shook his head, giving up an opportunity to brag about any skills he may have obtained during his disappearance.

"You have my number. All I can think to do is keep an eye on anyone close to Dave. If I were doing this, I'd make him sweat and leave Katie alive for a while."

"You could've told me this shit over the phone."

"You wouldn't have listened. I had explaining to do and now that it's all out, I would hope it would give you a little faith in me. If not, that's fine, but Dave, like you said, is a good person, and he was always nice to me, even before this bullshit superhero crap. Someone like him doesn't deserve this."

"We actually agree on something." She said. He stared at her and remained quiet for a minute.

"Do you have any fucking emotions?" He asked, sounding annoyed. She stared at him. "You're like a fucking robot or something. Your friend's father was just butchered. He called you sobbing-"

"There's a time and place for that kind of shit, I don't do it in public over melted sundaes." He nodded.

"Alone in your room?" She nodded. "You really are a woman, congratulations." He said.

"Thank you." She said in a dry, monotone voice.

"I'm just going to do the best I can, you do what you do if you're gonna do it. I've done what I came here to do. Now you know, you can act on it or not." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He pulled out a hundred dollar bill and tossed it on the table.

"Ice cream doesn't cost that much." She said, attempting to annoy him.

"Leave a fucking tip." He said, walking away.

"Still using daddy's money, even though you hate him now?" She said, loud enough for him to hear. He lifted his wallet without turning to face her.

"Heir to the thrown." And with that, he walked outside and disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter was a little rushed. I'm sorry if it shows but hopefully it won't happen again.**

For as long as he could remember, he was unhappy. He vaguely remembered having a happy childhood, but those memories ended at around seven years old- the time he began idolizing his father. Whenever the man would walk into the room, Chris would stop what he was doing and stare at him, hoping he would come and talk to him. Playing was out of the question- his father had never done that- but any sign of affection would do, and it usually came in the form of a small half smile or a pat on the head, which was never enough. He likened his feelings to a sponge. He'd whither away and shrink down to almost nothing, then his father would come by and it'd be like a drop of water. He'd suck it up and return back to whatever he'd settled for as normal. Over and over again, the cycle would repeat itself and he got used to straining for nothing.. He lived a life that was just short of satisfaction, but he felt he had no right to complain, seeing as how he was always reminded of how lucky he was, and he realized that in some ways, he really was. He was the only son of two of the richest people in New York, and he was treated as such. A bodyguard accompanied him nearly everywhere he went, whether it was clothes shopping or picking up comics at the little store he felt he wasn't welcome at downtown. He felt the eyes of everyone his age glued to him every time he walked into that brightly colored building, and he kept his head down as Stu cleared a path for him. There was a time when he felt like an asshole for seeming to demand attention wherever he went, but that feeling evolved into a sense of arrogance soon enough. He had a phase where he'd smile when the large man ahead of him scared the other shoppers to make them move, but that phase faded faster than the first, and his arrogance melted into quiet acceptance and self pity. He would beg people in his head to talk to him. To please show that they had a desire to just say hi, but nobody ever did, and it was a hit to his self esteem to know that nobody felt braving the huge bodyguard was worth whatever the skinny rich kid might have to offer. Obviously, if they were in the same store, they had common interests, and these interests were so nerdy that it would be an automatic hit if anyone started a conversation about anything, even something he hated. It would stir up a debate, and he would've enjoyed it, but no. He was left to shop alone in the shadow of a man he'd known since the day he was born.

He never had a normal life. He knew what a normal life was, and he knew that was one luxury he didn't have. Normal kids woke up to their parents getting ready to leave for work. They'd eat whatever over-processed food their on-the-go mother had purchased for them, and run out to the bus stop, where they'd be picked up and shipped off to a crappy dirt stained public school that would teach them jack shit for twelve years, then send them out on their own, expecting them to find success or be labeled a failure. Chris woke up when his nanny knocked on his door. She'd walk in and open the blinds before saying, "Time to get up, Chrissy." and leaving to clean somewhere else. He'd go into his closet and find an outfit to wear, then get in the elevator to go downstairs for breakfast. It would be plated for him, right across from his perfectly groomed and made up mother, who would be reading one of two things- a trashy romance novel with roses and cursive writing on the cover- or the entertainment section of the news paper. His father would be locked in his office, and all Chris would get from him that early would be the muffled sounds of his yelling coming from inside. It intrigued him, and his habit of sitting in the hall with his ear against the door, or just a few feet away, playing with his toys, lasted well into his teenage years. It was where he learned how to swear, and learned that his dad wasn't just like one of those scary mob men from the movies he loved so much- his dad WAS that man. From the time he was seven on, he felt as if his dad was everything he should aspire to be. Most kids watched mob movies and idolized the actors in them, tricking their minds into believing those Hollywood bigshots actually had some kind of power on the streets, but Chris didn't have to pretend. If his dad wanted someone dead, that person died, and in a child's mind, that made his father God. Looking back at his life, Chris knew he was wrong to feel the way he did about his father, but he also knew it wasn't his fault. Not wanting to blame his mother, he looked over the fact that she never stood up and told her husband to tone his behavior down when Chris was around, and he felt helpless, not knowing how to fix what went wrong. He loved his mother, though he ignored her for the most part for the majority of his life, and he loved his father even though his father rarely paid him any attention, and even when he did it was never enough.

He often sat alone in his room and stared down at the streets, sad he couldn't tell what the people looked like from so high up. He watched the tiny dots move around, wondering if they were businessmen or schoolkids, and if they were going home or to work. He played games with them, picking one specific dot, deciding whether or not they would bump into someone in the time he could keep them in his sight, and he'd watch them, hoping he was right. If he wasn't , he started again with another dot. If he was, he started again with another dot anyway. He led a lonely existence, and the only time he actually had interaction with people his age was when his parents threw parties, and their friends couldn't find babysitters. They'd bring their kids along and they were forced to stay in Chris's room, which was big enough for the kids to avoid them if they so chose to. Sometimes they did, but there were a few of the kids that enjoyed Chris's company, and grew ecstatic when they were allowed to go to the D'Amico house to play. Chris's best friend was a boy his age named Jeremiah Yimenez, the son of one of his father's lower ranking henchmen Jared Yimenez. Jeremiah was exactly like Chris in the sense that he wanted to be his father, and the fact that his father wanted to be Chris's father made Jeremiah idolize Frank on a level close to Chris's adoration. Whenever they would play, and Chris's father would walk by, both of the boys stopped moving and watched him until he was gone. Chris was filled with pride when it happened, and he tried his hardest to act like it was no big deal to be the son of Frank D'Amico. Chris never doubted Jeremiah's friendship. Though the boy obviously thrived on seeing even a glimpse of Frank, he never asked where he was, if he was home, or if Chris had overheard anything new. He was as happy discussing new swear words he'd heard through the door as he was talking about Power Rangers. Chris saw him as mentally younger, even though he was actually older. He was more innocent and Chris knew the boy had a more normal upbringing. If Chris was allowed to spend the night at anyone's house, he would have loved for it to be Jeremiah's, but his overprotective parents wouldn't allow it, and Frank didn't yet trust Jared enough to have any member of his family, no matter how young, to stay overnight in his house. So they would play with action figures and run around, dressed in superhero costumes until the time came for Jeremiah to leave, at which point, Angie, Chris's mother, would kiss him on the forehead before saying goodbye to him, and Chris would wave as if he didn't really care that he was leaving, though he really did. Chris knew his mother noticed how starved he was for interaction, and she did her best to organize play dates, but it all came down to his father's mood, which was usually not very happy.

Years went on, and Jared earned Frank's respect. He became a regular member of the D'Amico henchmen and Jeremiah was allowed to come over more. Those times were all Chris had to look forward to and their friendship never faltered. As Chris grew older, he grew bitter and hated anyone who got any attention from his father, including Jared, but he kept his anger to himself, fearing it would jeopardize the only real friendship he had. It was because of that bitterness that he didn't feel anything when he thought everyone, including Jared, had been gunned down in his hallway that night. He wasn't thinking of Jeremiah, or how he would feel knowing his father had been murdered, all that went through his head was that the competition had been eliminated. He was, however, completely let down when saw how his father hid while his men died for him. It seemed like a cowardly act, and it messed with his emotions but his fear pushed his disappointment aside.

That night was a clusterfuck of emotions. He was angry that his father had taken one of his very few friends, Kick-Ass, and intended to execute him live on the internet. He was scared for Dave, but there was nothing he could do, no matter how angry he was, so he watched in a daze. He was overcome with excitement when the gunshots rang through the screen and all of his father's men on site were slaughtered. He was livid and embarrassed when he saw that his only target was the one who had done it all. During the massacre at home, he was terrified, but relieved when he saw Dave alive and well. However, something clicked in his head when his father ordered him to attack his friend. Though he did it, he didn't give it his all. Spending all his time at home, he could've beat Dave in no time flat, knocking him out and having time to help his father, but he didn't. Every day after that night, he was humiliated whenever he thought of the double knockout hit the two of them managed to pull off.

That was it. When Chris opened his eyes upon coming to, he knew what he had to do, and he grabbed his father's sword. He'd learned enough from the comic books he was raised on to know right and wrong, and he knew he was wrong. He knew his father was wrong. Hurting Dave was wrong, shooting a little girl was wrong, and letting all of his men- his "friends"- die for him while he hid behind a desk was wrong. Putting his mother through it all, and destroying his entire house- it was all wrong, and when something was wrong, someone had to make it right. There comes a time in everyone's life where they're pushed so far that their emotions turn off, and though his father was the most important person in the world to him, Chris had snapped, and he was prepared to kill his father or die trying. For a boy who had never broken a bone, or needed stitches, winding up bleeding from the mouth and nose on the floor of his father's gym was a big deal, and he wasn't happy. The years of frustration were coming out, and he ran to his dad's office only to find it destroyed. Dave had the girl in his arms, and Chris watched the two of them fly off with a jetpack. It was the coolest thing he'd ever witnessed and all he could do was watch, wondering where his father had gone.

His life got better and worse after that. He took time to just sit and go over everything that had happened. He learned who everyone was that was involved. That Kick-Ass was Dave Lizewski, Big Daddy and Hit-Girl were Damon and Mindy Macready. He learned the names of every man who died that night, and he learned about their lives so he could talk to their families and apologize. Understandably, several of the families wanted nothing to do with him. Still, others welcomed him in as if he were Frank himself and being nice to him would guarantee them a better life. He used his father's money to pay for every funeral the families would allow, and he gathered his courage and called Dave. Hearing only Chris's voice, Dave knew who he was and he let loose a very colorful string of expletives. Chris managed to calm him down and asked if they could meet, which was something Dave wanted no part of, until Chris told him that they could meet on the steps of the nearby police station, in civilian clothing. Once there, Dave finally put two and two together and realized that Chris was Red Mist. A mild fight broke out but Chris defended himself quickly, showing the skills he held out on the night they were forced to fight. He sat Dave down, he talked to him, and he earned his trust, at least partially. Chris reported back to Dave with every good thing he had done, trying his hardest to prove he wasn't his father- something he never thought he would even think of wanting to do. The man who was once his idol was now the man he was working his ass off to disassociate himself from. He asked about Damon and Mindy, and Dave knew to keep his mouth shut about them. All he let Chris in on was that Damon was dead, and Mindy was pissed. It was enough to fill Chris with fear, but he went to bed every night terrified of an attack that would never come, and he wondered why. So, he dug.

He learned about them like he learned about the men that had died, and what he found out was that he'd shot who could've been the world's most lethal assassin. He felt a small amount of sick pride knowing he'd managed to do it, but remembered she was just a little girl, and felt ashamed of himself. The more he dug, the more he found out about his father's ties to this little girl and her now dead father. He learned about her mother, and the prison sentence. He learned about Gigandet, and the entire operation against the Macreadys. Upon the realization that the police officer was such a twisted prick, Chris pulled as many strings as he could to get the man fired. It was another small thing he reported back to Dave. His guilt tore him apart, but there was nothing he could do to fix it, and that was something he had to live with. He saw it as his punishment for what he'd done.

To ease his mind, he decided he needed to get away from the site of the worst time of his life, and he bought a house in the middle of a small farming town. It was modest when he bought it, but his lavish upbringing caused him to upgrade nearly everything in it to make himself more comfortable. The TV was replaced by a screen that nearly covered an entire wall. The shower was expanded, retiled, and a touchpad replaced the knobs. Lights, chairs, the stove, carpet, countertops, couches, bed, closet, and even the toilets were all messed with until he felt comfortable. Knowing walking around with his last name would allow him to have absolutely no peace, he went through the trouble of legally changing his name, using his middle name and his mother's maiden name to form his new identity. It wasn't too complicated but it was enough to get "D'Amico" off every receipt and phone bill he received. He lived quietly by himself, spending his time working out, messing with whatever he could on his house, and teaching himself new skills. He took classes online, never feeling satisfied with his level of education. He kept in touch with whoever he could, meaning a handful of people that included his mother, Dave, and Jeremiah.

His growing friendship with Dave, his guilt over the Macreadys, and his nearly life-long friendship with Jeremiah came crashing together the night he got the phonecall from his oldest friend, telling him what he already knew- the identity of Kick-Ass and Hit-Girl. He felt his heart jump into his throat as Jeremiah told Chris everything he knew about the superheroes who had a hand in trying to kill his father, and who were responsible for the death of Chris's father. He was angry, but excited, and Chris heard the shaking in his friend's voice as he unveiled the details of his father's plan to destroy the two people he hated more than anyone on Earth. Chris saw, without any clouded judgment, why Jeremiah was upset, and understood where he was coming from. Despite that, and despite whatever loyalty he knew he should feel for him, Chris knew Jeremiah wasn't the one who's side he had to be on. He took notes, asked questions, and memorized as much of Jared's plan as he could before tracking Mindy down.

He knew going to Dave would've been a mistake. He was, after all, just a kid in the grand scheme of things, which was strange seeing as how Chris found himself going around a 22 year old and searching for a 16 year old. He found her, through her adoptive father Marcus- also her father's ex-partner. He thought long and hard about every possible outcome before he sent the text message. Was he ready to die for all this? Was he ready to be exposed as Red Mist? What else did she have on him? Obviously she was smart, she'd been trained nearly her whole life. So, she'd have dirt on him. He was part of the D'Amico empire, after all. After a little while sitting there, thinking too much, he decided there wasn't a choice. Whether he lived, died, got the shit beat out of him, or was exposed in some way, he knew he couldn't live with himself if he let something happen to someone as innocent as Dave. He sent a text to the phone under the name Mindy Williams, and didn't count on getting a response.

Meet at Richie's Diner at nine tomorrow night. -CDA

He knew if she got it, she would be there, and if she wasn't, he was on his own. Either way, he had to come out of hiding.

On his way to meet her, though, he made a stop at Dave's house and saw the scene of a murder. It confused him so much that he checked the notes he'd made during his conversation with Jeremiah. It wasn't right, and nobody was supposed to die tonight. When he saw Dave sobbing, he had to leave, fearing he'd lose his composure, run up, and try to comfort his friend. He got into his car and drove to the diner.

The second he saw her, sitting in a booth by herself, the guilt came back to him. He found it hard to look at her but he had enough discipline to be able to force himself to appear confident, even if he wasn't feeling it. He sat down, and he took his verbal beating, countering her attacks and arguments with nothing but facts. He was honest about everything, and he told her things she could've kicked his ass or killed him for. She did neither. She reacted the way he hoped she would- the way he honestly knew she would. She was smart, and she put emotions aside in favor of facts. She put her feelings on the back burner and suffered through having to relive her pain in order to get the information she needed. This girl he had feared and felt guilty over was now in front of him and he didn't feel threatened by her, he felt like her equal. That wasn't saying she wasn't scary as hell, but he knew she wouldn't hurt him, because he knew she was one of the good guys. Despite how violent and vicious she got, she walked on the moral high ground and he wasn't a criminal. He knew that she was aware of that. He threw every bit of confidence he had at her, tossing in a little arrogance, and made her see him for what he was- someone trying to do the right thing, and someone who had learned a lot since making stupid decisions that had cost lives, mainly her father's.

The night ended with him not knowing which way she'd go. Whether she would join in, or walk away was all up to her, but he'd made the decision early on to do whatever he could to fix the situation. He was willing to die protecting the people he didn't know on the list he had folded up in his pocket. It was the only way he could see to go about the situation. He drove through town in a haze, clueless about how it was going to happen, but it was going to. He was going to have to kill, and there was a possibility he would die, but there were no other options. He'd spent his life playing superheroes with his best and only friend, and now he had to stop playing and actually attempt becoming one. There would be no capes or masks this time. It wasn't about the fame like it was when he wore eyeliner and fake red hair. This time, his goal was to remain unseen and he knew driving around in a $80,000 car wasn't going to help him in that department. He had to dress down in more ways than one, and he needed to find a place away from his friends and family to stay in town. Attempting to put the teenage girl out of his mind, he drove around, searching for a place to set up so he could map out a plan to intervene in a plot that would cause the deaths of a dozen or so innocent people. His nerves were killing him and all he wanted to do was sleep, but it wasn't an option. His happiness and comfort were nothing to him now. He was on a mission and, whether he had a shot in hell or not, he was going to put everything he had into it, including his life.


End file.
